FINE
by Paulathe Cat
Summary: Dean and Sam discoover a follower of the new God  Castiel  who has created a unique way of worship. Dean questions his worth. Tons of angst. Rated for  coarse language.


Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Supernatural doesn't belong to me and I make nothing for having written it. WARNING: Spoilers for all seasons, up to and including 7.10 (Adventures in Babysitting). Contains a couple of instances of adult language (cussing). No slash. One mildly graphic and short description of torture. So very much angst.

FINE

By Paula the Cat

The sign above the warehouse in the strip mall stated the address was home to the "Church of New Enlightenment". The Winchester brothers had traced a fair amount of un-natural occurrences to this sleepy town in Northern Idaho. The weather was cold and the glass windows were fogged over with the white frost of frozen condensation.

"New Enlightenment?" Dean huffed a warm ghost of grey into the cold morning air. His green eyes narrowed and his impatience with this hunt written in every move he made.

"Dean…" Sam warned. Sam had recognized his brother was still angry and hurt. He wasn't likely to move past it any time soon, but he also realized that hanging out in Frank's Off-the-grid Huntmobile with the paranoid hunter wasn't helping. In fact, Sam had noticed several changes in Dean's personality that kept Sam questioning despite the repeated affirmations of "I'm fine, Sam" lobbed back at him.

Dean shook his head and blew warm puffs into his cupped hands. They watched as a green hybrid vehicle approached the parking lot and pulled into a space in front of the "church". The young woman eyed them for a moment before leaving the car. She continued to watch the brothers as she strode to the passenger side to claim several wide pink boxes.

She juggled with them as she progressed to the church's front door where hung a sign stating, "We're never closed, but we do need sleep".

"Well…" She called over to them. "You gonna watch me or help?"

Sam immediately moved to her side and lifted the tower of boxes so she was able to pull keys from her pocket. Dean walked up more slowly and stood behind them. None of them said another word until they all were inside the building.

The glass store front had revealed a white wall that separated the foyer from the rest of the church. As the woman walked through the arch in the partition, she reached over to flick on the light switches. "Come on back."

The first room through the arch was a kind of dining hall with mismatched tables and chairs. Most were what one might expect from a hospital waiting room, aluminum and Formica with metal and plastic chairs. Others were clearly donated from homes or thrift shops, pressboard, plywood or pine with cushioned seats upholstered in floral or animal prints. The woman waved Sam through, past a low counter top with wells for keeping buffet-style food warm covered with clear plastic hoods.

"Is this a soup kitchen?" Dean asked.

The woman turned her scrutiny on Dean as Sam placed the boxes on the back counter that contained cooking surfaces. "Sometimes," she replied.

The woman held her hand up to forestall the questions she saw forming on Sam's face and she turned her back to give her attention to the thermostat on the wall. She didn't even face him when she pointed in Dean's direction and demanded he start the coffee. To Sam, she pointed to the overhead cabinets and told him to arrange the food on a large platter. Then, she disappeared into the back. The brothers looked at one another with poleaxed confusion, but did as the bossy woman had commanded.

When she returned from her mission, she let out with a relaxed breath, dropping her shoulders. The Winchesters looked at her as she scrutinized them. Dean wore worn out blue jeans that had seen better days. He wore layers of button-down shirts with butterfly collars over at least two t-shirts she was able to see. Over all of this, he wore a nearly-black-with-age leather jacket. Sam was dressed likewise, but his jacket was more threadbare canvas. She made mental note to find him something more suitable. They both had decent footwear and socks which pleased her. At least, if they couldn't afford clothing, they kept their feet warm. People used to very cold weather really understand the value of warm socks and hardy boots.

She nodded to herself and lifted her face as the smell of freshly brewed coffee reached her. She smiled with impish mischief at Dean and turned, gesturing them to follow. She pulled out disposable hot beverage containers with a tray full of creamers, sugar, sugar substitute and stir sticks. She leaned down to claim small plates and napkins from another cabinet and gestured the men to help themselves as she poured herself a cup.

"We should probably do this in the other room… The others will be here soon and we won't have a moment of quiet then."

"Uh," began Sam, "Sorry… do what, now?"

She looked at him as if he was speaking some form of alien language… or like he was deficient in some way. She led the way, and the brothers followed. As they stepped into the larger room through another archway, she stopped and watched as they crossed the threshold.

"You have the look, for certain. We were told to watch for fellas like you."

"Like who exactly?" Dean asked in a tone that was gruff with suspicion.

The woman pointed up to the devil's trap painted in a stylized design on the ceiling. Sam and Dean exchanged a look that they were able to read, though their hostess could not discern the meaning behind it. She did take it as a cue to continue the tour.

"We keep the storerooms stocked with whatever you might need…" She began walking and the brothers followed. She led them through a large "sanctuary" that was filled with over-sized cushioned chairs and sofas. They didn't see pews or hymnals but, there were long tables equipped with various machines and devices. It reminded them of a time before the failed Apocalypse when they stayed briefly in a town equipped to deal with demons waiting the Judgment Day that never came. T

"We have a small furnace in the back for smelting copper and silver. We keep more bags of rock salt in the warehouse than the city stores in theirs! Every other day, we bless and keep holy water in vats with spigots for easy filling whatever containers ya got. We have a local gunshop that helps however they can with bullet casings and empty shotgun shells. The place is equipped with high-speed internet, wi-fi on our own server which is housed in the office…"

She escorted them through to the warehouse and her voice echoed hollow tenor as she continued to an adjacent door on the far wall. Sam and Dean both looked around the large storage room filled with metal shelving in rows throughout the space. Each shelf was stocked with large, heavy bags or sturdy plastic boxes filled with metal filings among others that they weren't able to see. She unlocked the door and motioned for them to enter. The room seemed to be the next door "office space" from the church. The room was lined like a library computer room. There were industrial printers and copiers on the far wall and cubicles housing all manner and age of computers. There was just a glimpse of books on bookshelves beyond an opening in the wall… a library of books on the occult, perhaps.

"Some of these are just dummy terminals" she explained with a blush. "The computers are too old to handle anything major. We have a few higher-end up-to-date computers and laptops…" she grimaced. "But, you know that shit's expensive. Most of this is hand-me-downs and donations." She continued walking when Dean caught her arm. She looked down at his hand and then met his eyes.

Dean was too taken by surprise earlier to speak up. But, now he wanted answers. "Who the fuck _are _you?"

The woman blinked. She blushed and giggled. She _giggled._ All traces of the glorified Realtor tour-guide for Hunters gone in that one act. Her dimples deepened in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. "Sorry." She laughed. "I forget the social niceties sometimes. I thought you knew. Weren't you referred?"

"Sorry, referred?" Sam asked.

The woman nodded. "Oh, yes! We help hunters and tell them to tell others… to tell others." She gestured with her hands the expected pyramid of information. "Hopefully, we can recreate the network the Hunters had way back before the Depression." She nodded her head and rolled her eyes as she held up her hand as if telling to hold the question or comment she knew to e coming. "I know… I know… I've heard it before. The networking of Hunters gets you killed… _but_, I have it on very good authoritythat we have many resources now they didn't have back then! We know more spells, have more devices and technology that our 1920's counterparts didn't have… also, we have God."

She turned to move on with her tour. She had just taken a breath and her mouth was opening to begin a description of the next room when Dean stopped her again.

The grip on her arm was painful, his fingers pressing white indentures into her skin. She gasped. "God?" he growled. There were waves of rage and fire in his tone and in the set of his hard angry eyes.

The woman nodded her head, holding in a whimper.

"Dean…" Sam called to him in a soft and reconciliatory tone. "Dean…"

Sam placed his hand on his brother's left shoulder. Dean allowed it to remain there for a brief moment before he shrugged the hand off and stormed back through the warehouse.

Sam turned to the woman in front of him. She was wiping her eyes with shaking fingers and evening out her breathing with deep inhalations. Then, she smiled. "Well," she rasped, "shall we continue?"

Sam smiled but held her with his gaze. He coughed before shifting. "I'm sorry about my brother. We've… we've been through a lot lately." She nodded and fidgeted. She wasn't quite sure what to do next.

"I… I'm used to people already kinda knowing what we're doing here. I don't usually give the tours." She toed the concrete floor with the tip of her boot leaving a black scuff mark. She stared at it for a little bit until Sam cleared his throat.

"I'm Sam, by the way." He reached out as she brightened and shook his hand.

"I'm Holly! I just help out when Pastor Miguel is out late with an artifact run or a hunt." Holly leaned in and whispered. "He used ta be blind, but God made him see. So, when God tells you to get this stuff done…" She waved an expansive and inclusive hand to mean the church and all she had shown them.

"Wait… You really meant _God_? Like physically present, hands on, not just an unknowable in a book but actually there God?" Sam blanched.

Holly nodded with an enthusiastic grin. "Oh, yes! God saw Pastor Miguel when he was a blind beggar in the street and called him a 'true believer'. Then, God cured him of his blindness. Later, God came back to him and told him to make a place for His hunters."

"We need to talk to my brother." They hurried back through the warehouse in the direction Dean had gone moments before.

Many men and women occupied the hall since they left on the tour. In the kitchen, there were a few grizzled men speaking to an older man dressed in a dark brown overcoat that reached to his knees. Sam didn't see Dean, but Holly gripped Sam's upper arm and pointed.

"That's Pastor Miguel." She whispered.

Sam nodded, looked around again for his brother, and walked with Holly toward the three men. They waited until the others moved off before approaching.

"Pastor, this is Sam. He's new." Holly beamed and Miguel shifted his gaze to the tall Winchester. His eyes narrowed at Holly before shifting back to Sam.

"Welcome, Sam. Maybe we should go and speak in my office? Holly… thank you for opening up this morning… and for the donuts. I noticed you didn't make the coffee, though… it's drinkable." Miguel smiled at her. She blushed and ducked her head at his joke, but her smile grew.

Miguel and Sam began to walk toward the office. "I assume you passed through the Devil's trap, so you're not a demon…"

Sam nodded. "I have a silver knife, padre. But, do you have Borax in that warehouse of yours?"

When they reached the office, Sam passed over another Devil's trap and stood in the room furnished with a simple metal desk and rickety swivel chair, a couple of plastic folding chairs, a single floor lamp and the walls were lined with bookshelves. There were books piled two rows deep on the sturdy handmade shelves and stacked high in towers on the floor.

Miguel moved past the hunter and sat in the swivel chair. He gestured to Sam to sit as well.

"Should I?"

"There are more things out there, Pastor, than demons and skinwalkers." Sam pulled out his silver knife and punctured a thin line across his arm allowing a free flow of red to drip down before wiping it. He reached into his jacket to draw out a silver flask and two small plastic bottles. He poured salt into the flask and drank it, then gestured for the pastor's hand. He poured the grainy substance from the other bottle on Miguel's hand. "That's Borax. Leviathans get burned like acid when they're exposed to the stuff."

Miguel looked to Sam's eyes then back to the detergent in his palm before leaning back with a squeak of his chair. "Hmm. What did you say your name was?"

"Sam… Sam Winchester."

Miguel's face paled and his dark brown eyes widened. "Winchester?"

Sam nodded. Miguel leapt out of his chair and moved around to touch Sam's face. "Oh, my dear God!"

Sam grimaced and looked up at the man. "I don't think he's around to hear you anymore."

Miguel waved his hand at Sam in dismissal of the statement. "It wouldn't matter. I owe Him more than I can ever pay back. And He told me to prepare the way. He knew you and your brother would come to me." Miguel looked around as if just realizing that Dean wasn't with him. He focused his attention back on Sam. "He told me to aide you in whatever way I'm able. He told me to make sure that you and other Hunters had a safe place and he gave me some of the tools to make it safe for you… for all of you."

A beatific smile graced the old man's face. Sam recognized that Miguel was experiencing a religious ecstasy in front of him and it made Sam very uncomfortable.

"Look, Father, I don't mean to be a pain but…" Sam rose from the seat and headed for the door. "There's a hunt in this town. We really don't need any amateurs getting hurt out there. And we certainly don't need any attention just now."

Miguel seemed to snap out of his reverie. "Oh, of course, Sam. No… I won't disclose your true identity. Whatever you need, is yours. Anything I have is yours… Yours and your brother's. It was made very clear to me by God. I was to give _whatever_ aide was necessary. If what you need is keeping your identities quiet, than that's what you receive. Oh, speaking of identities… the hunt was handled last night. It took a while to identify. Rakshasa are not typical monsters for around here and not everyone here is experienced enough to have identified it right away. Lucky for us, a couple of lifelong hunters came into town last night and they got him. I'll get the word out to start handing out boxes of Borax as part of the resupply kits. Thank you for the tip."

Sam smiled. "Resupply kits?"

Miguel lit up. "Oh, sure! Hunters coming through sometimes just need a bag of salt, holy water… you know, the basics. Sometimes they need something more specific. I have civilian followers looking up artifacts on the web… usually college kids who have heard the call of God and want to help. Some others go and get more exotic items. Nothing dangerous... bronze daggers or shark-tooth ceremonial knives. Weird, but useful."

"Well, keep up the good work, Father. Maybe, we'll be back 'round this way again."

Miguel nodded his head. "Yes, and maybe next time we can show your brother what we do here. _He_ was very specific… _He_ wanted _Dean_ to forgive Him. Isn't that a _miracle_? He wanted a _human_ to forgive _Him_!" Miguel shook his head.

The two men departed the small office and entered the large hall. There were many voices and sounds coming from the sanctuary. Sam saw his brother leaning up against the wall near the foyer and stopped to say his good-byes to Pastor Miguel. Sam figured he should let Miguel hold onto hope about the kind of guy Castiel believed Dean to be for a while longer. Sam wasn't even sure _he_ knew who this new Dean was. He certainly didn't want any cloud of doubt to invade this poor man's dogma. And if Castiel had told Miguel to make life a little easier for Hunters, well… Sam wasn't going to interrupt that good deed by exposing Miguel to the real Dean Winchester. Not now, anyway.

As Sam approached, Dean pointed discretely at a mural Sam had missed when they arrived. Sam looked up into the familiar face of a blue-eyed, dark-haired angel in a trench coat. He looked over his shoulder at the clergyman speaking to another couple- a man and a woman, both armed with shotguns and clearly outfitted to hunt. Dean fell into step beside his brother. As they walked over to the yellow Nova sitting where they parked it, Sam explained about the Rakshasa. Dean nodded and glanced back at the little church.

"Castiel made this happen." Sam told Dean.

Dean remained silent. He didn't move to get in the car, but he didn't seem to hold the waves of anger he had earlier. "God, Sam… she said God."

Sam nodded. There's a story about that. Sam was sure that Dean would want to know, but wasn't sure if he was ready to know right now. Dean harbored a lot of anger toward their angelic friend. Since Bobby died, Dean's anger had just ratcheted up to obsessive. Sam feared for his brother. He wondered if knowing this was done specifically _for_ Dean would really help ease some of his pain. He somehow doubted it.

They both took a last look around the strip mall and the _little church that Cas built_ and got in the car. As they were pulling out of the parking lot, Sam realized that their father had been a myopic vengeance-driven bastard, but Dean had one-upped him.

Sam reflected that John Winchester always had the mission statement of "Kill the Yellow-Eyed Demon" at the top of his letterhead. Dean may have a similar mission statement- "Kill Dick Roman"- but, their Dad was a slow-burn kind of vengeance that simmered over years—patient and prepared. His brother was rage and fury all barely contained in a Dean-shaped shell—and it was white hot rage that was likely to burn Dean out. If Dean knew where Roman was, he would go there. He was not the same methodical and careful hunter he had been while Sam was growing up. He was being fuelled by hate and Sam feared that Hellfire burned in the green eyes of the 'righteous man'.

Sam wasn't sure if knowing the true nature of this little attempt at atonement from Castiel would help smooth over all the betrayal that led to the setting free of the Leviathan. Sam suspected that Dean may not only blame Dick Roman for Bobby's death, but Castiel as well. Once Dean managed to rid the world of Leviathan, he didn't think that hate would be sated.

"Wanna talk?" Sam attempted.

"I'm fine, Sam." It was like an automatic preset. Sam sighed.

Something he heard when they were investigating for the Osiris situation a while back came to mind. Sam sat in the back of the auditorium while AA testimonials were given. The speaker was talking about the response, "I'm fine." It was one he had used with his loved ones the speaker had said at the podium with a self-depreciating smirk. At the time, Sam was barely paying attention. Now, though. It was clear that the guy had it right.

"You know what 'fine' is an acronym for?" Sam mumbled at his brother.

"What?" Dean's voice was elevated in a request for Sam to speak up.

"It stands for 'Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional, Dean." Sam shouted. "Quit telling me you're fine!"

Dean glared at his brother and turned back to the road. They were headed to the motel to get their stuff and head out of town since the hunt was dealt with. Dean had complained all the way to Idaho about how pursuing this hunt was pulling him away from his pursuit for Dick Roman. One way thinking. One way, and Sam hoped it wouldn't lead him to a cliff.

The car was silent for a few moments and Sam refused to look at his brother. He felt heat color his face and ears. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to deal with his own battle for sanity and Dean spiraling out of control. Dean needed something to release the pent up frustration. He drank himself to sleep… _when_ he slept. He _refused_ to sleep if he could help it. He didn't even look at women and he didn't demand pie any more. All the things Dean used to take pleasure in from the past were no longer of interest to him. These were giant red flags and Sam wouldn't ignore them even if Dean did.

"I can't lose you." Sam whispered when Dean cut off the engine in front of the motel room. Dean looked at his brother, his hand still on the key in the ignition.

Dean leaned back into the seat. "You're not gonna lose me, Sam."

Silence.

"I already am." Sam replied, looking at Dean. Dean took in the expression on Sam's face. He knew Sam meant it. Sam felt that he was losing his brother and it was hurting him. Dean was told since he was four… and he was deliberately hurting his baby brother.

"What do you want me to say, Sam?"

Sam dropped his eyes to his lap. He fingered the scar on his palm. He rubbed his thumb along the jagged lines and looked up and out into the cold Idaho morning.

Dean reached to open the door of the car and walked to the room, closing the door behind him. Sam puffed soft breaths.

"I wish you could still hear prayers, Cas… Castiel… If you really were God and not… anyway… I don't know what else to do." Sam sat for a few more minutes. He listened to the snarky responses of Lucifer in the back seat as time ticked by. He felt that it was long enough. He wasn't going to indulge in the stream of doubt voiced by the Devil any more this morning. He opened the door to follow his brother into the room.

Dean just sat there on the bed. His bag was packed and ready for the trip, but he didn't look like he planned on leaving.

"Do you want to stay… maybe just for a while… get some sleep?"

Dean looked up at Sam. He rubbed his hand over his face. "Maybe."

Sam walked over to the other bed and pulled off his boots. Dean pulled himself to the headboard and leaned back on the bed.

"Do you think people pray to him?" Dean asked.

Sam considered the non-sequitar and responded. "I know they do."

Dean looked at Sam with a question in his eyes. "Why?"

It would be difficult to make Dean believe. Sam had played at normal for such a long time and he tended to be more introspective than Dean. So, it was easier for Sam to understand the reasons why people felt the need to do these things than it was for Dean. Dean was intuitive in a way Sam was not and instantly could detect lies and evasions. He saw truth quickly, though he couldn't always tell how. Sam was much more interested in how and why than Dean. So, Dean's question took him by surprise.

"He was there, Dean. He showed up and told them that he was their God. They believed him because they didn't know there were things out there that could do the things Cas was able to do." Sam spoke in a soft and reassuring tone as though Dean were a skittish colt.

Dean looked at him in disbelief, though what part Dean didn't believe, Sam couldn't be sure. He shook his head and closed his eyes. Sam could tell that Dean wasn't sleeping. Sam had just rested his head on the pillow and closed his eyes when he heard his brother again.

"But, how do you know they do?"

Sam considered the question. He was nervous about the answer. "Because I do."

"But, how do you?" Dean asked.

Sam looked over and met his eyes. "Because _I_ do, Dean. Because I pray… Sometimes, I pray to their Dad. I pray to Cas… I pray to our dad, sometimes. I don't know if he can hear me. I doubt they will answer, but I think it helps me to… I don't know… figure stuff out on my own."

Dean considered Sam's words in silence. He closed his eyes again and before long… fell asleep.

When Dean dreams anymore, he dreams in blood—red and black- dripping trails of sanguine liquid covering blades of every shape and size. He relishes in the press of edge against the writhing creatures below him and feels the pull of the blade against skin. Often, the blood pools black on the floor, on his hands and on his blade. He closes his eyes to the symphony of agonizing shrieks as he dismembers a leviathan.

Tonight is different from previous nights since Bobby died. Even before that… since Cas…

Dean was walking through rooms of a strip mall converted office building. The trappings of the ecclesiastical surrounded him. There is a choir of children singing somewhere he cannot see. The rooms are seemingly empty. He senses a presence, but does not see anyone. He turned around and faced the wall separating the kitchen from the foyer. He looked up to see the mural of the trench-coated angel.

Damn Sam…

"You can't hear me anymore, Cas." Dean whispered into the stillness. "You did it to yourself."

Dean turned away from the painting of his late friend. He began to pace toward the back of the hall. He paused at the archway before turning back into the dining room. He faced the mural again.

"I'm gonna have to kill Sam." Dean muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath.

He approached the mural. Castiel's face was a lot more serene than he had last seen it. There was red discoloration over Cas' face, but the blue eyes are the same as he remembered before the…

"I wish you had come to me…" Dean wiped his face. "I wish things had worked out differently." Dean walked to the big purple oversized chair. He sank into the soft cushions with an exhausted sigh. "I don't know why I'm doing this." He looked around. "This isn't even real. I'm dreaming."

He stared at the painting. Memories of the night he met Castiel wound through his mind and he chuckled to himself. He green eyes dropped to his fingers interlacing with one another in his lap. He listened to his own breathing and the soft murmurs of a hymn. He lifted his eyes with a blush.

"Castiel, I don't know if you can hear me… I need to… I'm falling… I feel like I'm falling apart." His breath hitched and his eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. He could almost feel his heart rate increase and his breathing become erratic. "I'm toxic, Cas. Did your dad tell you that when he sent you to come and get me?" Dean took a gasping breath to delay the outpouring of emotion. "Dad died… he lost his soul… because of me…"Tears were falling down his face unchecked. He sobbed as he took a deep breath. "Sam… if I hadn't…" Dean shook his head to try and clear his vision. "Cas, you should have left me there. Pamela, Ash, Ellen, Jo… everyone I ever knew… they all fall away like ashes because of me. Osiris sent Jo after me. It was true, even though she said she was…" Dean dropped his head into his hands as his body was wracked with heavy painful sobs. When he looked up again, it was with red-rimmed and puffy green eyes. "Now, Bobby…" Dean's voice squeaked with the strain of emotion. "I don't know what to do, Cas. I'm so lost. I've lost everything and everyone. Even frickin' Sam! Sam has Lucifer as a co-pilot… co-pilot? Fricken' Lucifer is a permanent tenant in his melon!" Dean rose from his place and gestured wildly with his hands. "Cas, where did everything go wrong, man? How did things get so completely out of whack? I thought when you brought me back from Hell, things would be okay. Then, Ruby and the Apocalypse… then, Lucifer and Michael… What the Hell, man?"

Dean began pacing. He shot occasional glares at Cas' likeness. "Am I a righteous man, Cas? You above everyone would know. Am I? Because, I just don't see it!"

"Don't you?" A heavily accented voice drifted from the shadows. Dean turned on his heel, lifting his Colt M1911 to meet the threat before he remembered he was in a dream.

"Who are you?" Dean demanded. The effect of his threatening posture and words might have been off-set by the nasal tone of his voice from having been crying and the still leaking red eyes. The man lifted his hands in supplication.

"I am Pastor Miguel from the Church of New Enlightenment." He informed Dean. Dean huffed but lowered his gun. "It is very good to meet you, Dean Winchester."

Dean scoffed. "Dude, we aren't meeting… this is a dream."

Miguel smiled and nodded. "It isn't at all possible that my God granted me certain abilities so I can be most effective in the task he set me?"

Dean lowered his gun and put it away. He turned his back on Miguel. "I got news for you, Padre… your God was a fraud. He wasn't a God, just a misguided angel."

Dean sat down heavily in a chair. Miguel moved to sit next to him. "Dean, you and your brother have both told me to deny my God and accept that He is gone." Miguel leaned forward. "I will not deny Him."

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes. "I am so tired." He draped his arm over his face, covering his eyes.

"Are you a righteous man, Dean?" Miguel lifted his hand to his face in contemplation. "God has told me that you have ever been a true and selfless son and brother. Your work has been pleasing to God even before you were thrust into perdition. Your behavior has always been just, even if you were not often chaste or innocent, you acted in accordance with God's plan…" Pastor Miguel regarded Dean with a grin.

"And…what?" Dean asked.

"That is the definition of righteousness, Dean. Did you not look up the meaning?" Miguel chuckled.

"I think I need to wake up now so I can sleep."

Miguel just laughed. Dean thought about what Miguel had said.

"Even though you're not really here, and you're just a figment of my imagination, maybe you could explain to me how I can have been pleasing to Castiel's plan before he became Uber-Cas?"

Miguel smiled again with patience of a clergyman. "Is it not possible that He was acting in accordance of His father's plan?" He waited as Dean groaned. "Dean, don't be like that… It is possible that this outcome was determined since the beginning of time."

"I don't believe in Fate."

"I'm not talking about Fate, Dean. I'm talking about determinism. I'm talking about the fact that all the things that led up to now had to have happened for us to be sitting here having this conversation."

"Sounds like Fate to me… I met Fate. She's a bitch."

Miguel sighed. "Fate is a servant of the Plan. She helps things along, I should think. The Plan at the Beginning of Time, is set in motion by the First Act. It wasn't free will but a pre-ordained action. Castiel was always going to be the one to pluck you out of Hell, you were always going to choose to say 'No' to Michael, Castiel was always going to choose to allow you to remain with Lisa and Ben rather than drag you back into the Life, and Sam was always going to be the one to pray to God and ask Him to help you now."

Dean regarded at Miguel. "Is that what this is, then? Sam prays for help and I get a misguided cleric in my dreams?"

Miguel shrugged. "How do you know I'm not just _appearing_ like a misguided cleric?"

"What? So, you're an angel?" Dean asked with incredulity.

"No, Dean... I'm not an angel."

Dean considered this new information.

"Life sucks for you just now, Dean… for you and for Sam. Life just… sucks. But, you are both so strong. You are both making choices that will save the world and you have given up everything so that others can live their perfect, miserable and mundane existences. It's selfless. It's honorable. It's… righteous." Miguel gave him a significant look. "I know that faith is hard for you… I won't ask you to have faith that things will end as they should. I know belief in something external to you is equally unlikely. You believe in Sam and in Bobby… in Castiel and in your dad. Now, all those things appear to have been taken… but, you continue to do what is right. Even when you know the choices are between something hard and something impossible, but right… You still choose right. How can you not know you are a righteous man, Dean?"

Dean looked at the painting of Cas. "Why didn't you come to me as him? Or as Bobby?" Dean asked.

"You are too angry with Castiel right now, Dean. You would not have heard me. And you're in too much pain to hear Bobby. You have seen me. Sam has told you something about me. I am a stranger, but I know about you and about Sam. It is sometimes easier to tell your problems to a third party. Is this not what Sam has said to you last night?"

Dean understood then. This is why people did it. This was why they prayed to him. He still believed Miguel was a part of his imagination, but this was his brain working things out. He was just glad he wasn't figuring it out with a soul on a rack. This was harder than torture dreams, but less messy… maybe.

He kinda wanted to wake up now. He wanted to talk to Sam about what he thought about here. He wanted to find out more about Miguel in the real world. He wanted to… he wanted to make the world safe… safer… He wanted a world without Dick Roman and the Leviathan. He realized then… He was the Righteous Man. He inhaled deeply and rose.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Dean." Miguel rose. Dean nodded.

Dean opened his eyes and he stared at the white water-stained ceiling of the Idaho motel room he and Sam were sharing. He was calmer than he had been when he went to sleep. He knew what he needed to do. He knew he needed to end Dick Roman, for personal reasons as well as for the safety of the sheep that he shared the world with. He needed to sleep, but he was a long way until he could rest. He looked over at his slumbering brother. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and entered the bathroom. He splashed water on his face. He took out his phone and scrolled down the applications until he found a music player. It took him a few minutes to find what he was looking for.

He took his phone over to Sam's bedside and pushed the player button. "War" played loudly from the tiny speakers. Sam jerked awake. "Rise and shine, Sammy." Dean chirped.

Sam looked at his brother and a smile grew over his face. "'Morning, Dean."

"We got work to do… but, first… pie!" Dean pulled on his boots and Sam jumped up. This was his brother!


End file.
